To my confidant

There is something I need to tell you.

Something as life would have it,

I have never told anyone.

You frown but I also see a smile in you,

Maybe a gratitude for the fact that

I am confiding in you.






I wonder if there is a mirror word for the word empathy,





something with a “yhtapme” quality to it,





The feeling of you feeling my feelings;





Becoming me for a while.










And  I know,





It doesn’t matter what I tell you,





If it’s something I have never told anyone,





That I never will;





It’s the telling that means everything,





Not the tale..

	


	

			






	

		
Trade-off
	


	
			

				
			


			
	

		

If happiness is the price of knowing,





Would I pay it again?





For I always felt it was right,





The world has taught me that,





Through the heroes who did the same,





To know and suffer,





Than to be simple and prosper,





But I wonder if it was too rash,





To fling the promise of innocence,





Right off the window,





To see my hopes and dreams,





Land on the ground of truth,





Bleeding, left out in cold,





To perish.










What have I gained,





What have I become,





Just a sad human being,





Who knows there is nothing beyond death,





That nothing will make me happy,





That no utopia lies in horizon,





That every promise at best is a lie,





And every relationship a maneuver,





That every life is soaked in thick gory amnion,





Of utter chaos and meaninglessness.










Or would I rather be a child again,





Seeing best of everything,





Seeing hope in suffering,





Seeing point in everything,





Being able to write, draw, paint,





To sing to my heart’s content,





Seeing meaning in it,





At the cost of knowing?



		
	
	


	

			






	

		
to time
	


	
	

		

Dear time,





How does it feel,





To be misunderstood,





To be misconstrued,





To be reduced,





Like God, into an icon,





Holding not even a grain of what is true,





To win everything,





And everyone,





Yet feel lost,





You,





Who know everything and everyone,





Do you know who you are,





Or are you just as lost,





As things you have made and unmade,





Wondering,





Condemned to perpetual questions,





Without answers…

	


	

			






	

		
the butterfly
	


	
	

		

Is it too much,





For me to ask you,





To love me for a minute,





In order that,





A novel meaning is painted,





Over century?





Is it not the,





Delicate cobwebs of memories





That guide the world?





The lapse of single thread,





Or an entangling of one,





The difference between





 a budding sun, and a spent star

	


	

			






	

		
Remembering
	


	
			

				
			


			
	

		

After the storm was over,





I remembered you,





I remembered rendezvous,





that never came to fruition,





I remembered losing you,





without loving you,





I remembered that i forgot,





what you told me not to forget,





I remembered telling you





that you were the light of my life,





it was a joke maybe?





Perhaps you’ve forgotten,





There was nothing really,





But you know i remembered,





And it kind of hurts,





to see you disappear like smoke…

	


	

			






	

		
Crying, Confessing..
	


	
			

				
			


			
	

		

You were crying on my shoulder,
I was crying but happy too,
That my faded T-shirt,
was worthy to soak up your tears,
You were crying and crying,
Never in my life have I seen someone cry so,
I didnot tell you not to cry,
I didnot take my shoulder off your head,
To hold you in my arms and kiss you,
I just let you cry to your heart's content,
Perhaps you wanted a hug?
It was beautiful,
That the barriers were finally crumbling between us,
Not like legos but like cards, noiselessly,
That you were ready to show your insecurities,
like showing some embarrassing picture, 
And I was ready to not fake responses,
I could tell you that you sometimes bored me,
without you taking offense,
And I could tell you how beautiful you were,
not because i wanted to flatter you,
But because it was a true thing to tell,
So when you cried today,
I let you cry without asking you to stop,
And when you eventually did stop,
You told me all about it,
About the fears that crawled through your  body,
And turned it numb,
About the regrets in your life,
that you smeared with false content,
And the romantically impossible dreams,
 that you killed with your own hands,
To let other dreams bloom,
And the people you hated,
But told that you loved,
And the people that you loved,
But told that you hated,
And all manner of things you pitied yourself for,
I listened, I judged, I became you,
And then it was my turn,
To seek your shoulders...






	


	

			






	

		
Dream girl
	


	
			

				
			


			
	

		

You come in my dreams,





With grey shades,





That feel like million colors,





You speak nothing,





And it feels like hundred violins,





You smell like a burnt morning toast,





And you smell like thousand daisies,





You give me fright of my life,





And you give me calm of lifetime,





You do not touch me,





Yet I feel you caress my blood,





The enigma that you are,





Coming from the depth of my mind,





Yet so distinct from myself,





So jubilant and full of life,





I refuse to believe that you were born out of me,





And my desires and fantasies,





I may just as well be your little work?





You may just as well be my creator,





The sweet balmy fuel of my soul?

	


	

			






	

		
minimum expectations
	


	
	

		

I don’t have a great loss,





I don’t have a great life,





What I have is,





a sense of loss of love I never had,





a sense of life I never lived,





not a manner of light turned off after burning for long,





but a manner of never seeing lights.





My griefs are not great,





My poems are not great,





I am not great poet either,





But I am not after greatness,





I just want my griefs to be griefs,





My poems to be poems,





And well, myself to be a poet!

	


	

			






	

		
A little blessing
	


	
	

		

There is something so tender, so beautiful about this night.Nothing very special seems to have happened. I am in my same dingy room, doing more or less the same things I have been doing in months. Reading for the exams that are never over until they really are. Stressing myself out when that’s the least appropriate thing to do. But still, there is something so tender and so beautiful about this night. Maybe it’s a culmination of something that only comes to fruition in hindsight. Maybe I am a little grateful today because things tilted slightly in my favor. It’s cold in my room but it’s a kind of cold that gets through your lungs before it hits your heart and bones. Like a lover you have been complaining about in recent times but you see a moment of beauty in her, while she is doing her hair or just being her and your forgive her for the bad feelings she incited in you. I don’t know what is it, but there is indeed something in the air at this time of night; it is a little calm and a little warm. And the coffee by my table is a blessing. I am bathing in this tenderness. And feeling lovely and beautiful

	


	

			






	

		
Personal God
	


	
			

				
			


			
	

		

It was a cold day,
It meant we were happy,
You always liked winters,
Even though they turned your fingertips into Popsicle, 
I made you a warm tea which you sipped,
You looked like a happy child,
Pouting your lips parched with cold,
Over the brim of hot mug,
Then you looked lovingly at me,
The way they show in movies, 
with background Chopin and all,
At that moment,
Which even Proust would envy,
Every memory of beauty swept over me 
like mother over her babe,
I knew i had found my God,
In you